Regrets, I've Had A Few
by Tifaching
Summary: John reflects on all the lost time.


Written for the prompt: lost moments

Summary: John reflects on all the lost time.

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><p>Regrets, I've Had A Few<p>

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><p>Batman plates. John doesn't know why they suddenly pop into his mind, what dredged this memory up after almost twenty-three years, but all of a sudden he's seeing them. Not just plates, but cups, party hats, a plastic table cloth. Mary had gotten them on sale at the five and ten in August and hidden them in a high cupboard, just waiting on Dean's birthday. John doesn't know what ever happened to them- he sure as hell hadn't been thinking about birthday parties when he left Lawrence. Dean's fourth birthday had been a happy family occasion; he can see Dean's laughing face, Mary's beautiful, pregnant glow. His fifth had passed unremarked in a rundown motel near Phoenix. Sammy was sick, Dean silent and withdrawn, and John overwhelmed with taking care two small children while trying to come to terms with his new life. It had been the middle of February before he'd even realized he missed it.<p>

He had been home for Dean's first steps. Mary had asked him to take the day off, smiled and told him that today would be the one, and she had been right. The two of them sat on the floor in the living room, Dean toddling back and forth between them, laughing and falling into their laps. Sam had learned to walk while John had been off on one of his first hunts with Caleb. Jim had researched a supposedly simple salt and burn for them, but the body wasn't where it was supposed to be and almost two weeks had passed before they had managed to locate the bones. John had stormed back into Jim's ready to rip him a new one for his faulty research, but the pastor had just smiled and guided him to the kitchen. John paused in the doorway and stared as Sammy, in what was obviously not a new move, pushed himself to his feet and stood, swaying , on his chubby legs. Dean was sitting a little way across the floor, not too far, but far enough that Sam would have to take five or six steps to reach him. John's breath came out in an almost sob when Dean reached his arms out and smiled. _Smiled. _And then, _come on, Sammy. You can do it._ John had to lean against the doorframe to keep himself on his feet. Sam was walking and Dean was _talking, _and it had all happened while he was away keeping some other family's children safe.

When East Side High's class of 1997 matriculated on June 17th, Dean Winchester was not among those who walked across the stage to receive his diploma. At 11:30 a.m., as Sarah Walsh was exiting stage right and Damian Wood was stepping up to accept his parchment, Dean was passed out from blood loss in a dingy motel room a hundred miles away. The fact that what should have been one of the most important moments in Dean's life was going on at the exact same time he was in danger of bleeding to death didn't even cross John's mind. There'd been no invitations. No class night or baccalaureate. Dean hadn't had time for school in months. A series of difficult hunts had necessitated either John taking Dean for backup, or Dean needing to work to keep money coming in during his father's extended absences. John sutured and cauterized and bandaged and sat vigil and, if when Dean regained consciousness he recognized the significance of the date, he never once mentioned it. Sam did though. When John brought Dean home, Sam described the graduation ceremony in detail and informed his father, in no uncertain terms, that when the time came for _his_ graduation, he was damned well going to graduate with his class. And he had, with Dean in attendance and John in a hospital three states over after a single black dog had turned out to be an entire pack.

John never met Cassie. He'd known about her of course, Dean was an open book as far as his father was concerned. The whole romance was over practically before it started, John and Dean hit the road, and the girl who could have meant everything to his son was gone from John's mind before they'd reached the main highway. Jessica Moore was a different story. Sam was _serious _about her. They'd moved in together, were obviously in love. There was no way Sam was telling _her_ the truth. Sam wanted safe, normal and neither of those was compatible with his past or his family. So John stayed away. Sam would be safe, go to school, get engaged, live his life far from the final hunt John was about to embark on. Dean would be the one he would need to worry about keeping off his trail. John had the chance to meet the love of Sam's life, he just never took it.

_If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back. I don't know what to do. Please. I need your help, Dad. Dean's sick and the doctors say there's nothing they can do. This is why I left in the first place. Don't you let it kill me, Dad. No sir, not before everything. _The scenes, the words, run through John's head as he watches Dean's chest rise and fall, respirator breathing for him. So many lost moments, so many times he wasn't there for them. _Don't you let it kill me….not before everything…_when Dean dies it will be too late. Too late to tell him how proud his father is of him, too late for John to mend things with Sam. They'll hunt for a while united in grief, in vengeance, but it won't last. By taking Dean the demon has ripped the heart from their family and the body won't live long without it. There's a decision to be made here, a choice, a chance to salvage his family. The Colt for Dean? It's no choice at all.


End file.
